Painters Can't Be Choosers
by suspect tomatoes
Summary: If he depended on her, then why did he expect so much? Jeff/OC. One-shot.


**A/N: I've had this in my mind for a while... Tell me what you think.**

I was fucking done. Abso-fucking-lutely done. You know, people ask me why I left Jeff Hardy. They always wondered what my goddamn problem was. Wasn't Jeff the sweetest guy in the world? Wasn't he romantic, didn't he cater to your every need? How could you leave someone so absolutely perfect?

Because Jeff Hardy is perfect in the eyes of horny fourteen year olds. Jeff Hardy is romantic because his eyes sparkle when he talks and his heart is stronger than his mind. Jeff Hardy is perfect when he's on the road, throwing up the words that are fed to him. Jeff Hardy isn't perfect.

Jeff Hardy is a selfish bastard.

I hadn't seen him in maybe... ten days? Ten days I hadn't seen him. He went overseas with Smackdown!, putting on a damn good show in different parts of Europe. The crowd really ate him up. He was admired by all, coveted by most, and hated by few.

But most of all, he was loved by me. And he didn't even fucking care.

I'd made him something he was craving lately - cheeseburgers. It wasn't really anything special, but who gives a fuck? It was what he wanted. He even told me on the phone, "Man, maybe when I get home we can grab a couple of cheeseburgers... I've been cravin' those, babe."

Well, guess what, Jeff? I MADE THEM FOR YOU. You just didn't eat them.

So I made them really special. I didn't buy store bought shit - I made the burgers from scratch, by myself. I nearly burned down Matt's fucking deck trying to grill them, because that's the way he liked it. He never liked them pan-fried; "Just didn't taste right," he'd drawl.

I got dressed up and I set Matt's table, and I waited, just sitting there, watching the steam rise off the burgers until nothing was left. The candles I'd lit - yes, candles, okay? Cheeseburgers can be fancy, too - had melted down to the holders, dripping wax onto Matt's pretty purple place mats.

He wasn't home. And he didn't come home until two-thirty in the morning, both brothers lumbering in tiredly, dropping their bags, stretching their cramped muscles. It must've started raining, because they were soaked, hair dripping and everything.

The door slamming woke me up, but I didn't move, just stayed limp against the glass. I heard someone shuffle in - it was Matt. He groaned sadly.

"Look at her, man," he said quietly. "She made us dinner."

Jeff didn't say anything. Whatever he did tugged the place mat I was sleeping on, jerking my head. I lifted it, staring at Matt blankly.

"Hey, sugar." Matt smiled softly. "Sorry we're late."

Jeff just grunted, burger in his mouth, and hustled down the hallway.

Do you see why Jeff Hardy is a fucking asshole? If you don't, please - allow me to explain further.

"How long ago did you make these?" Matt picked one up and lifted the top bun slightly, wrinkling his nose. "There's no mustard on these, right?"

I shook my head. "Nothing on them. You have to do it yourself."

Matt was already chewing, eyes twisted sullenly. "They're good," he said weakly.

I sighed, standing up. "I'm going to bed."

"Wait, Amanda - " Matt grabbed at my forearm, tugging me against his side. "I'm sorry, really. Our flight was canceled because of the weather and Jeff wasn't - "

"Don't make up excuses for him," I growled, wrenching my arm away.

That's when Mr. Hardy - the younger one - decided to pop in and look at me expectantly, eyebrows raised.

Matt noticed and turned. "Jeff, will you apologize to your girlfriend? She's a little upset that you're so late."

Jeff furrowed his brow, but didn't say a word.

"Jeff," Matt said tiredly. I couldn't see Matt's eyes, because I was behind him, but I could see Jeff's. They were fighting mentally. "Say you're sorry."

Jeff came over and snagged my hair, kissing my forehead. He side-stepped me, took another cheeseburger and opened the basement door, thumping down the stairs.

I could feel Matt's humiliation seeping into my pores. "Nice apology," I hissed.

Matt sighed, turning to me. "He's - "

"Tired, right," I said flatly. I patted his stomach. "I'm going to sleep."

"Hey, Amanda?" he called a few seconds later. I was at my bedroom door already.

"Yeah?"

"Sleep well."

I shut the door. I wasn't going to sleep. Oh, no. I had a plan. You know what that plan was?

The first thing I was going to do was pull out my dusty suitcases and start piling all of my clothes into them. Then I was going to pack all of my shoes, my books, my trinkets and my photos into another musty suitcase, before zipping them both and tugging them to the floor.

You think I over-reacted? It wasn't like that was the first time he ever did that. Oh, no. There were many different times, for many separate occasions. But that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I couldn't live with a guy who didn't give two fucks about me.

So Matt was in his room when I came thumping out of mine, right? He saw me carrying bags and he freaked, running down the hall after me. "Amanda! What are you doin'!?"

"I'm leaving," I said shortly, resting my tired arms. I pulled open the basement door, looking back at Matt. "Just going to say good-night."

Matt was shaking his head. "Amanda, come on. Please?"

I went down the stairs, hearing the sounds of spray paint cans clicking as someone shook them. I rounded the corner and stopped, watching Jeff's bent back strain under his white muscle shirt.

I always loved Jeff Hardy's hands. They were long and slender and tan, dotted with green spray paint, and his nails were actually completely colored that day, a nice shade of shiny black. His fingers curved around the can gently, moving slowly as he pressed the button. The spray hissed out and dotted the paper.

"Jeff," I barked.

He didn't turn around, just shook the can, the muscles in his arms jumping rhythmically.

"Jeff!"

He moved around the large canvas he had spread out, one foot over the other, pants slacking on his hips. He looked up, a splat of paint sliced across his cheek. "What?" he asked, bored.

I crossed my arms. "I'm leaving."

"Have fun," he said dully, eyes narrowed over the sheet. He tossed the can behind him, bending his knees as he reached for another one, ripping off the top harshly.

"I meant for good."

He glanced at me then, eyes lingering on my face. But then he looked down, fiddling with the can. "Oh." He put the top back on, knocking it into place with the flat of his palm.

"Yeah."

He watched his work as he snorted, clearing his throat. "Any particular reason why?"

I raised a brow. "Any particular reason why I should stay?"

Jeff pursed his lips. "Aren't we in love? Or something?"

"Or something."

He nodded, thumping his hand against the top of the can awkwardly. "Well. What would make you stay, then? Do you want me to stop wrestling?"

I sighed, pressing my fingers to the insides of my eyes. "It's not the wrestling, it's the... " I crossed my arms again. "Just forget it."

"No, no, seriously. What is it?"

"You don't appreciate me. You don't appreciate my feelings."

"I ate those fuckin' burgers, didn't I?" Jeff rarely ever raised his voice. But now, his eyes were on fire and his nose was smashed up and his mouth was open like I was the stupidest person in the world for putting him in this situation.

"It's not about the goddamn cheeseburgers!"

"Then what is it, Amanda?" He hurled the can behind him, smashing it into a shelf Matt had set up with action figures. "Do you want me to come home and put down my briefcase, take off my hat, say 'Honey, I'm home!' while walk into the kitchen, to kiss you on the cheek and ask you how your day was?"

I shook my head.

"That's good! Because _I_ can't _do that_, Amanda. I come home for _two_ days a week, and you have to fuckin' put me through this? I'm sorry, _Amanda_, but I'm _tired_ when I come home from my nonstop, back-breaking job, okay? I barely have the energy to _eat_, let alone sit down and have an intelligent conversation with someone over cheeseburgers by the fuckin' candle light!"

"I was making it nice! I don't do that stuff to make it harder for you. I do that stuff so you can come home and not have to worry about dealing with anything but seeing me. I want you to relax when you're with me."

"What do you think I'm _doin_' right now!?"

"You're _painting_! You're not with me. The past couple of months, Jeff, that's all you do. You come home, you eat, you come down here, you paint, you sleep, you eat, you paint, you sleep, you paint, you paint, you _fucking paint_!"

"This is _relaxing_, Amanda. Why would I rather stay upstairs and listen to you bitch about the world when I can be down _here_ creating one? If you want to talk about the wonders of life and the deep, deep meanings of existence - fuck Matt, not me. It looks like you picked the wrong brother."

And _that_, ladies and gentlemen, is why Jeff Hardy is a fucking stupid ass, cock-sucking son of a bitch.

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. I could tell he knew he'd hurt me. His eyes softened and his shoulders dropped, his muscles relaxing. I saw him flex his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

I was shaking my head, and a humorless chuckle escaped from my lips. "For what?"

"For not livin' up to your expectations."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "_I_ should be sorry for that."

He glared at his hands, confused. "What?"

"I'm not the type of person you want. I get it." I turned and headed toward the stairs, stopping on the bottom step to watch him over the railing. "But you may never find a girl identical to yourself."

He sighed. "You're the best I got," he whispered.

I shrugged. "Then stop me."

I heard the monotonous fizz as he started painting again when I reached the top step. Matt turned toward the counter awkwardly when I opened the door, like he hadn't been listening, his ears pressed to the wood, trying to make out our words.

I grabbed my bags. "See ya."

"Hey."

I looked back at him.

He swallowed, nodding quickly. "You can... come around still. You know."

I shook my head and opened the front door. "Nah. It'd be awkward."

Matt sighed. "Yeah. It would be."

"Have a nice... life."

"If you ever wanna... call. And... you know. Talk. You know my number."

I smiled softly. "I will. Thanks, Matt."

I never did call him after that. I just shut the door to my old life and opened a new one.

I still watch Matt occasionally, whenever I'm flipping through the channels. My boyfriend usually wants to watch _House_, but during the commercials, I always tend to flip it to Sci-Fi, just to see Matt carry around that bulky piece of plastic his employers gave him to play with.

I even watch his brother. Sometimes. He looks different now. He was never that orange when I was with him, that's for sure. And his stage performance is just so... poor. It's like he's bored. Like he's done it so many times, it's hardly exciting anymore. But he still does it. Because it's his job.

I guess beggars can't be choosers.

**A/N: You know that bored part? True feelings. Sorry, folks. Jeffro's not lookin' too... excited anymore. If you watch him walk through the crowd, he barely lifts his hands anymore. He just walks through theirs. But I will admit, the weeks vary, because he could be enthusiastic one week, then sullen the next. I don't know. Maybe it's just me. Oh! And you know why I chose Amanda? Because it means "Worthy of love". Kinda fit. :) Review if you please.**


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